


audience participation

by geekinthehoodie



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alcohol, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Character Study, Depression, Friendship, Gen, Grantaire Angst, Mental Health Issues, Recreational Drug Use, Smoking, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-24
Updated: 2016-05-24
Packaged: 2018-06-10 11:49:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,571
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6955300
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/geekinthehoodie/pseuds/geekinthehoodie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>See, when Grantaire's with his friends, he can slip into a skin that he knows everybody responds to. Whenever he’s with them, he’s pretending to be happy and it’s easy. He needs to know that they would want him around because he needs to know that he has someone to pretend for.</i>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>a look into how R sees his relationship with his friends</p>
            </blockquote>





	audience participation

**Author's Note:**

> or  
>  _the one where i pretend that this isn't really a story about me_
> 
> or  
>  _the one i wrote at 4am when i was hopped up on caffeine and nicotine and alcohol and sadness_

Grantaire has always known that he wasn’t happy. His sadness is just something that sits under his skin like a louse. He’s never said it out loud, though.

He’s said it under his breath on multiple occasions usually in his car while listening to shitty indie music that he would normally laugh at. He murmurs it when he takes another shot alone in a crowded bar. He whispers it to himself when he’s had his third cigarette, lips pressed around his coffee mug, another deadline looming. He said it to his reflection a few times

_[It never sounds right though_

_I am sad_

_I am unhappy_

_I am depressed_

_~~help me~~ _

_it never sounds right]_

His sadness is just something he knows that’s within him. He’s never said it to anybody though. Especially not to his friends.

See, when he’s with his friends, he can slip into a skin that he knows everybody responds to. When he’s with his friends he laughs louder than he should, talks faster than he normally does, he’s more animated than he knows is natural. Whenever he’s with them, he’s pretending to be happy and it’s easy.

_[too easy]_

It’s easy to pretend that his late night thoughts are nothing but that _late night thoughts_. They’re nothing that truly exists or anything that truly matters. That maybe, just maybe, it’s just the sleep deprivation or one too many cigarettes. He’s never sure if anybody really likes him but at least they respond to his loud abrasiveness. When he’s with Les Amis, he regales them with stories of family drama that he spins to make it seem funny. He tells them about awkward encounters and tells it like a comedy so they think it didn’t bother him. He always, _always_ has an anecdote that he knows would make everyone react. Negatively, positively, he doesn’t care; he just needs them to react. He needs them to have fun.

 _[to keep on thinking they want him around]_  

He always, always gives a show making sure to embellish. He needs them to always react to what he’s saying. He needs to know that they would want him around because he needs to know that he has someone to pretend for.

_[self-deprecating jokes are always a crowd favourite_

_everyone finds those funny_

_maybe they agree with him]_

If he doesn’t have anybody to pretend for, he’s afraid of what _[or who]_ gets left behind.

_[who the fuck am i?]_

He’s been pretending for so long that he isn’t sure who he really is. Everyone knows him as the guy who’s always loud and getting hammered with his friends. Everyone knows him as the easy going guy who’s always calm and chill. He’s the guy with a good story to tell. 

 _[He isn’t sure if that really is him or it’s just a part of the act that he’s playing.]_  

He doesn’t know where the act starts and where it ends.

_[He doesn’t know where he starts and where he begins.]_

Pretending comes second nature to him. Everyone that talks to him always says that he seems so put together and so in tune with himself. They say that he’s cool or that he’s such good company. He never believes them, thinks they’re being nice, and he always, always just laughs and tells a joke.

Sometimes, though, he likes to let his sadness slip into conversations. Likes to see if anyone would notice, he wants to know if people would see through his disguise. He always says it through a joke though. _[always, always through a joke and never outright._

_no one ever takes him seriously_

_no one should]_

R

There were instances though, when people almost point it out. Bossuet, in all his beautiful glory almost, almost pointed it out once when he, Joly and Grantaire were stargazing, a joint passed between them.

They talk through the darkness while staring at the night sky. R is relaxed under the twinkle of stars and the buzz of the weed. He talks a lot about himself. He thinks the other two are listening. He hopes they aren’t because he’s saying some stuff that’s a bit too close to late night thought territory and he’s deathly afraid that they’ll figure it out; that he isn't happy. 

_[He wants them to figure it out though. Maybe. He thinks.]_

He tells them about how hard it is for him to approach people. Even people he's closest too. He isn't sure why he says this, but he does. He cracks a joke that it's because of his crippling anxiety. They laugh.  _[It's true though]_

_[He also doesn’t say that it’s also because he isn’t sure if any of them really like him.]_

Bossuet suggests that they talk about what they love about each other. When it’s R's turn to get praises he laughs it all off; tries to skip his turn.  _[He wouldn’t believe them anyway.]_

Joly tells him how he likes that R always paints himself as the bad guy.

Grantaire says that he is

“But you’re really not.”

R laughs. Doesn’t believe him. Not sure if Joly really believes what he’s saying. Not sure if what he’s saying is true. Still not sure if they really like him.

Bossuet looks over at him and says simply “I like how you’re so open.”

“I am.” He says it like he means it but also like a joke; because it’s half true he never lies to them he always says what’s on his mind.

“Like, almost too open.”

R sweats. Bossuet almost has it. Of all people. He almost has it.

_[has what though?]_

“Yeah? I’ve got nothing to hide, you know. What you see is what you get.”

“No, I feel like you’re so open and happy that there has to be another side to you.”

He has it. He fucking has it and Grantaire wants to cry. He wants to agree and shout how right he is. How much he wants someone to know that his mask isn’t really him.  _[Or is it?]_

His mouth moves on its own accord though “Really? You think? Like you think I have depth? You think I’m deep.”

“Well- Yeah!”

“Oh my god, Joly! Bossuet thinks I’m deep! Haha! I didn’t know I was deep.” He laughs and to his ears it’s bitter, fake, and too loud. His friends laugh with him though so he thinks he sounds sincere.

Bossuet pushes though, almost embarrassed, a bit red, and R panics. He’s saying that there is something there in him. He needs that push he needs someone to push but he can’t let everybody know how fucked up he is. They’d never want him around. He can’t let anybody push.

So, he snorts and takes a long drag from the joint and he says, “Then even I don’t know how deep I go.”

Bossuet says he still believes it, though.

R laughs, thanks him sarcastically, but he desperately wants him to keep believing it.

He doesn’t bring it up again and stops pushing but Grantaire desperately wants him to.

_[does he?]_

He hopes Bossuet still believes.

R

Grantaire is so undeniably sad. He’s searched for years for a mental disorder that he can diagnose himself with.

_[Because, maybe, maybe, with a mental disorder, he can finally know why he feels so goddamn shitty all the fucking time.]_

He knows though, that he doesn’t. It’s just how he is and he knows that it’s disrespectful to people who are legitimately sick to want one. It’s so goddamn shitty of him to pray that there is something fucked up going on in his head just so he can feel better about himself. He almost cried when he thought of the millions of people who have to go through what they’re going and he’s fucking _wishing it_ onto himself just so he can feel less shitty.

_[He doesn’t cry though. He hasn’t cried in years. He can’t. He’s wanted to though. Forced himself to cry so many times because maybe, just maybe the sadness that’s always, always simmering just under his skin can finally be free. The tears never fall though. They never do.]_

He’s contemplated killing himself a lot of times. He’s planned out everything that he wants to do and how he wants to do it. He knows where he’s going to do it and what he’s going to leave behind. After a while the idea of his death doesn’t sound so dramatic even when he says it to himself. It starts to become an afterthought.

 _Oh, I’m failing all of my classes. I should kill myself._  
_Shit, I forgot to do the paper again. I should just kill myself._  
_FUCK. My friends don’t like me. I should die._

He thinks that the fact that it stopped being such a big thing should be a warning or something. He thinks about all of the movies and sees how dramatic people who kill themselves are. He wonders what it means that it was such a normal thought in his head. Is he treating it as not a big thing? He’s angry at himself that he’s taking it so lightly. He’s disgusted and offended by his own thoughts.

It stopped being anything dramatic and, just like that, he’s guilty again. He knows how many people die and take their lives. His thoughts are an insult to them.

_[i should kill myself]_

R

Grantaire doesn’t want to be alone because he doesn’t want to be left to his own thoughts. He knows that if he’s alone, he can’t pretend for anyone. He doesn’t like who he is when there's no one to put a show for. He gets tired though, when he’s around people. So tired that he gets sad and then he finds that he needs to be around people but he gets tired. Then it becomes a cycle of sadness.

_[round and round R goes when will he stop_

_no one knows]_

He doesn’t know if he truly likes his friends or he’s only using them as a way to drive away his thoughts. He feels shitty for that but he needs to not think. It’s easier to pretend to be someone likable than go through his own thoughts.

_[He knows though, that maybe somewhere, where he’s not overthinking that he really truly does ---- his friends. They’re someone he knows he can count on and they’re so, so fucking important to him._

_maybe._

_are they?]_

_[Why are they important though? So he can feel better about himself? Is he just using them to make himself feel less shitty?]_

R

Marius told him once how much he missed him after not seeing each other for a few weeks. Grantaire thinks he missed him back. Misses how he laughs at all his jokes and always gives him compliments. He couldn’t bring himself to say it back. He doesn’t know why he can’t say it. It should’ve been easy shouldn’t it have been? I mean, he feels it? Doesn’t he?  _[you're using him to feel better about yourself]_

“Hey R, I miss you buddy!”

“Aww shucks. You should. I’m fucking awesome.”

Marius was kind of drunk, so he pushes, “No, no. You don’t understand.  _I miss you._ ”

R sweats. There it is again. Someone who’s finally, finally pushing again. Someone’s who’s saying how much he cares and R freaks the fuck out because he thinks he feels the same way. He knows that he might have missed him but he isn’t sure. He thinks that he does miss him. He doesn’t want to say it though because what if what he’s feeling isn’t real and he fucking lies to this nice, glorious, kind-hearted man. He can’t fucking lie to Marius.

Grantaire pulls a face and pretends to blush even though he fucking is

Marius, who always, laughs at his joke and freely compliments him, pushes. Always pushing because he actually believes that he likes Grantaire, “God. I do miss you though. A lot.”

R exhales smoke and it tastes like alcohol, “I’m right here.”

“Yeah, I know. But I missed you.”

He wouldn’t fucking drop it and R doesn’t know what to feel. So, he says with a smirk  _[always with a smirk]_  “Let me finish my beer and maybe I’ll say it to you back.”

It was such a fucking cop out but Marius fucking  _beams_  and it’s enough for now. He’s stopped pushing though and Grantaire hopes Marius would still tell him he misses him.

R

Grantaire still paints sometimes. He thinks that painting might bring out all of the sadness that he feels but can’t express. But even as he’s painting, he isn’t really feeling the full weight of his sadness. It’s right there though.  _[Always. Right. Fucking. There.]_

But he treats it clinically, almost like in the third person. That’s the only way he can get it out. His painting sucks. He knows it. But everything that’s in him is in the canvass and it’s still not really hitting him on how fucked up his thoughts are. He sees it objectively but he can’t seem to see it subjectively. He looks at the colours and understand what he’s trying to say but he can’t seem to see the full scope of what he wants to say.  _[what?]_

But as he’s painting he realizes that he doesn’t really feel sad anymore. He wonders if he’s really sad or just saying he is as an excuse. Maybe he just doesn’t want to admit how fucked up he is.

R

_[He isn’t sure if he’s ever going to kill himself. He doesn’t think he wants to die, he just wants to stop living.]_

R

Grantaire sleeps almost the whole afternoon. When he gets home from school he would go straight to bed. He wakes up at night, does a little work, and sleeps again. Sleeping is his escape.

_[He wants to sleep forever and isn’t that the same as dying?]_

Marius once asked him to go out with them but he says that he has to sleep. Bossuet made fun of him because he always seems to be sleeping. Joly agrees and calls him boring.

Grantaire, always, always joking [ _hinting]_ says “Guys, sleep is the only good thing in my life right now. I need to sleep.”

Joly, god bless him, asked him, almost concerned maybe, “Are you okay? Are you depressed? I read somewhere that only depressed people sleep a lot.”

R freezes because, no, he gets sad but not so far as depressed. Joly is wrong. He isn’t depressed. Sure, he gets sad sometimes but calling him depressed is such an insult to depressed people. He isn’t that sad. He’s just incredibly, deeply, scarily fucked up.

Depression is too easy. It's an easy answer for a fucked up question. He’s just a bad person with bad thoughts who makes bad decisions. _[who treats his friends like garbage because he’s a bad person with bad thoughts who makes bad decisions because he’s a bad person with bad thoughts…]_

Joly was so close though. There's someone pushing again. _[why do they keep pushing?]_

_[i hope they keep pushing]_

R pushes back. Treats it like another joke. _[cue joke]_

They laugh.

 As always.

_[no one knows, no one can know]_

Is he depressed? He doesn’t think so. It’s still easy for him to be happy.

_[To pretend he’s happy?]_

All he needs is an audience.


End file.
